Batmanian Rhapsody
by BEJR
Summary: Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Ficlets written in response to lyrics from "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen. Could range from humor to hurt/comfort - anywhere the wind blows and the muses take me. This ficlet: Alfred polishes Shakespeare.
1. Is this the real life?

Title: Batmanian Rhapsody

Rating: T, to cover all my bases

Warnings: Language, for now. There will be individual warnings on the chapters if it is warranted.

Summary: Answering ficlets to prompts from the lyrics to "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen.

Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, perhaps appearances from Alfred, Gordon, and Nightwing

A/N: I do not have the rights to "Bohemain Rhapsody" or Queen, and I am probably bringing shame to the name of Freddie Mercury by even attempting something like this, but OMGOSH I love Queen and OMGOSH I love Batman so it was inevitable that the two would eventually meet.

A/N: Look at me, getting all fancy with my titles again. I like to think I'm clever.

A/N: This is sort of a cross between an alphabet prompt and a songfic. It uses the lyrics to a song, but each line is a prompt instead of a piece of the fic itself, if that makes sense. The idea is to update everyday (*fingers crossed*) with a new ficlet. I couldn't decide it I wanted to do drabbles or one-sentence fics, so I decided on a mix of the two and some stuff in between.

A/N: I flatter myself by thinking this, but if anyone wants to use these as prompts in the future, I have no problem with it. However, I'd appreciate a PM to ask permission and a credit somewhere on the fic? If it's not too much trouble?

A/N: Wow, is this note really longer than the first installment? Sheesh.

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><p><strong>Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?<strong>

Tim would always wonder how Bruce could wear a cape and cowl as easily as a tux and a tie – and how he managed to tie the damned thing and keep it from going crooked.


	2. Caught in a land slide

**Caught in a landslide, No escape from reality**

Tim's tenuous hold on consciousness finally slipped as he succumbed to the pain of a leg pinned by a boulder and a head that had recently reenacted Newton-and-the-apple but with rocks the size of baseballs, so it was understandable that he didn't hear the triumphant shouts of his soon-to-be rescuers when a well-placed blow with a pickaxe removed enough rocks to reveal a crumpled black and yellow cape.


	3. Open your eyes

**Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see,**

Gordon crouched on the other side of the fallen vigilante. It had started with an errant step on a rusty rung of a fire escape and ended here with the younger vigilante blinking blearily up at the barely-there stars, responding to the worried rasp of his mentor with a barely-there voice.

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><p>AN: I may have gotten carried away with alliteration on this one. I make no apologies.


	4. I'm just a poor boy

**I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy**

Tim, for his part, at least waited until they were back in the cave to burst into guffaws. At Alfred's dry, "I believe ice cream is meant to be ingested, sir, not worn," Bruce gathered his cape and his dignity around him and marched stiffly from the cave.

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><p>AN: It's still Friday! I made it in time. Thanks for the great reviews! Some of them weren't linked so I couldn't respond in person, but thank you (you know who you are) for taking the time to review my story. It really means a lot to me.


	5. Because I'm easy come, easy go

A/N: Two different points of view! I was waffleing over which one to post, then realized they followed one another - and both followed the prompt. Happy days! This might be the longest installment yet? Of just content, not counting my rambling author's notes.

A/N: Also, there seemed to be an error with alert messages. Fanfiction usually sends me an email saying "Author BEJR has published a new story" (Cute, right? Like I wouldn't know.), but I didn't get even that. But apparently its all fixed now. Thank goodness because I would have no idea who to contact to get everything straightened out. Fingers crossed that it doesn't happen again.

A/N: Shout out to S for all her lovely reviews! Thank you, my dear. I am always grateful for your support and enthusiasm.

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><p><strong>Because I'm easy come, easy go, Little high, little low<strong>

Alfred rounded the corner into the matted training area and quickly halted his paces. Keeping to the shadows (_not_ like a certain pointy-ear-cowled vigilante, thank you very much – English butlers had much more panache), he watched the matched shadows on the mats tracing the same patterns they had every day, and their brothers-in-arms had traced before them for hundreds of years.

o0O0oo0O0oo0O0o

One absent-minded movement during a judo kata and a flying serving tray later and Tim was left wondering exactly what sort of training Alfred had under his belt in order to be able to prepare soup with such a distracting aroma – and defend himself with a single arm without spilling a drop.


	6. Any way the wind blows

**Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to me**

One mischievous gust of wind and Tim had a wrenched shoulder and a new respect for roof-top gargoyles. Dick had ribs aching from laughter, tears in his eyes, and new-found blackmail material.


	7. Mama, just killed a man

**Mama, just killed a man, Put a gun against his head**

"And that, Batsy, is check and mate."

The single, sharp explosion barely lingered on the windy docks, but Bruce knew it would echo much longer in his apprentice's nightmares.

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><p>AN: Change of voice. It's about time we met up with this guy.**  
><strong>


	8. Pulled my trigger, now he's dead

**Pulled my trigger, now he's dead**

Tim stared mournfully down at the still-smoking cake and its impromptu layer of fire extinguisher frosting. He poked at it cautiously with a barbeque fork.

"Is there anything we can do? How can the middle still be mushy if it was on _fire_?"

Dick simply cocked a finger gun at the failed pastry and put it out of its misery.


	9. Mama, life had just begun

**Mama, life had just begun**

Tim used to look up at the eyeless mask floating in its glass cage and the Bat watched and was sad. Then he met it eye for eye, glare for glare, and the Bat was barking over his shoulder that they had a case.

When he was old enough, tall enough, experienced enough to look down at it, he just straightened his own cowl before heading out into the night, and the Bat was nowhere to be found.

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><p>AN: A day late! My apologies for tardiness accompany this update. I knew I was going to jinx myself by promising an update a day (curse you, deadlines, and lack of an internet connection!).


	10. But now I've gone and thrown it all away

A/N: I JINXED MYSELF. *sigh* I wanted to update every day, consistently. And now, _almost two months later_, I finally am updating again. Have I started grovelling yet? I am so, so sorry for the delay! As always, life got in the way, but I appreciate the understanding. I have recieved so many lovely reviews and favorites (and still mysteriously accumulate traffic on my fics - mind blowing, truly) and I am so grateful and thankful for them. :)

A/N: I am probably setting my self up again for defeat, but I'll try to update on a much more regular basis. My goal is no more two month gaps! *crosses fingers*

A/N: Anyone else in agreement that Alfred is pretty much an English, mustachioed badass?

A/N: Again with the notes being longer than the updates lol

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><p><strong>But now I've gone and thrown it all away<strong>

Casual dangles over croc-infested waters, crosshairs firmly pointed at the space between his eyebrows, and heat rays slightly too close for comfort had all tried and failed to…persuade...Alfred Pennyworth at one time or another – but he had long ago decided what he valued more.


	11. Mama, ooh, Didn't mean to make you cry

A/N: THIS IS SUPER FLUFFY AND I REGRET NOTHING. :)

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><p><strong>Mama, ooh, Didn't mean to make you cry<strong>

"Ok, _Mom_."

A flabbergasted Bruce was met with a double-gun salute before a slammed bedroom door ended the exchange.

Seeing a very careful non-smile from the very carefully non-eavesdropping Alfred (like that bust of William Shakespeare needed to be dusted for 10 minutes straight), Bruce merely quirked an eyebrow.

"It appears your insistence upon a clean room and a made bed has been equated with maternal instincts, Master Bruce," came the dry observation.

"If I'm the mom, what does that make you? And won't he be old enough for a certain Talk in a few years?" Bruce pointed out.

_English butlers and stiff upper lips, my ass._

Bruce had the distinct pleasure of turning his back on a very-carefully-not-horrified manservant who was now polishing The Bard for a fourth time in despair.


End file.
